


two stargazers

by snowhoe



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: & seven, ?? idk ?? It’s like enemies to youre okay I guess to oh wow I’m kissing u now, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, im listening to reputation to ts, its 4 am, theres some stars, this fanfic just happened idk chaps, watford year 8, yeah❤️ - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowhoe/pseuds/snowhoe
Summary: Stars, out and being gazed at, filled the sky. Baz was next to him, a fact Simon was all too aware of. His chest was rising a bit too much, his hand tucked under him kept fidgeting with his hair, his eyes would flick to and away from Simon.Simon wasn’t an idiot. He was thoroughly oblivious and didn’t think sometimes, but he was not an idiot. These were signs. He’d seen them with Agatha, in the moments when their relationship was a butterfly in their stomachs, and here they were with Baz.The strange thing was that his pulse was tiny thunderbolts and his hand wanted to wander. Too.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 112





	two stargazers

**Author's Note:**

> nsjsjnsns this is my excuse to try and use lots of repetition, have fun <3
> 
> also kal this is !!not!! your bday post, that will be when i get my life together okay okay

When it came down to it, everything ended the same: forgotten. No matter how big, life would be lost sometime throughout the cluttered house called time. Every moment, every feeling. Forgotten.

The skewed reality a person created to ignore the fact was, of course, a bubble. It all depended on who, when you asked the question of how poppable.

For Simon, his bubble was strong. It protected him from everything—his future, his past, even his present—except Baz. When he was around Baz, he was vulnerable. Whether they were fighting or sharing mutually poisoned gazes, vulnerability always hung in the air like no other person could do to him. It was, all at once, dizzying and confusing and scary and electrifying. But that was Baz.

You expect a campfire, you get a burned down house. You expect a burned down house, you get an ashy forest. You expect an ashy forest, you get—well, Simon wasn’t sure what was the next extreme. Earth in flames?

Needless to say, Baz burned you in one way or another. Despite his odd need to keep the room an ice box. 

However, here they were. Not fighting. Not even speaking (in a good way). The world was laid anew the moment Simon was laying under it with Baz next to him, and here they were. 

Stars, out and being gazed at, filled the sky. Baz was next to him, a fact Simon was all too aware of. His chest was rising a bit too much, his hand tucked under him kept fidgeting with his hair, his eyes would flick to and away from Simon. 

Simon wasn’t an idiot. He was thoroughly oblivious and didn’t think sometimes, but he was not an idiot. These were signs. He’d seen them with Agatha, in the moments when their relationship was a butterfly in their stomachs, and here they were with Baz. 

The strange thing was that his pulse was tiny thunderbolts and his hand wanted to wander.  _ Too.  _

The sensible side of Simon, however small, told him that was stupid. Idiotic. Baz would never—He would never. It was a jarring no, full stop, don’t think about that, you dolt. 

But then he remembered the slight glimmer in Baz’s eyes when Simon asked if he wanted to sit. “You could stay, you know.” Then Simon remembered who he was with. “If—if you want. Uh, you don’t, er, have to.” Baz had replied, “Come off it, Snow,” but not harshly, and here they were. Lying down under the stars, tiny bugs and comforting awkwardness the witnesses to it all. 

It was nearing the end of seventh year, they both had to come back and do the roommate thing all over again, and they were both a little tired of it. Baz, of course, wanted everything more, something that was a cold case to Simon. He didn’t know how Baz felt, he didn’t know how  _ he _ felt. 

They’d been staring at the stars for around thirty minutes and neither had said anything to the other. Simon was getting restless. He couldn't do homework for five minutes, nonetheless stargaze with his enemy for thirty. “Excited for next year?” he blurted out.

Baz looked at him, raised his eyebrow, then looked back to the sky. “Not necessarily.”

“Right...right.”

What were they doing? They didn’t do this. They didn’t talk to each other. They didn’t even look at each other unless it was filled with spite. They didn’t—

“Are you excited to have one last year with your Wellbelove before real life?” Baz asked. Simon was trying to suppress a smile. What were they doing?

“Er...no. I’m not sure there’s really going to be a “real life” with Agatha. Or, like, one in Watford. What would that be—a Watford Life or something?”

Baz’s neck made a crunch noise. “Did you break up?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were studying the stars, but his mind wasn’t. Simon was starting to wonder why Baz cared all these years, Agatha or him? 

He wasn’t an idiot. 

“Why are you asking?”

“Blackmail for future reference.”

“Ah. Nice.”

It felt like banter. Simon could smell cedar and bergamot. Baz’s throat bobbed. 

“Do you like Agatha? If you do, then—”

“No.” 

Simon knew he was being honest. He didn’t know how, it was a feeling. Or it could’ve been the speedy reply. Either way, Simon’s soft reply came. “Okay.”

The next moment, it all became too much. The setting: the lawn of Watford at night, stars shining and grass damp. The characters: Simon, worst chosen one to ever be chosen, and Baz, evil vampire. The scene: the two, who have never gotten along, getting along, some would even say it’s...intimate. 

Simon blushed. Merlin.  _ Did he like Baz?  _ That was a dangerous thing to think. And what was Baz thinking?  _ 101 Ways To Kill Simon Snow!  _

“Baz?”

“Yes, Snow?”

“What are you thinking?” He wasn’t a mind-reader, after all. 

Baz was nothing but calculated. He replied, “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I disagree.”

“Excuse me, you...disagree?”

The stars were abandoned for eyes, and their faces were inches apart. Simon was hot all over. That was another sign that maybe,  _ maybe  _ there were feelings. Everything between them was complicated, it seemed. 

“I disagree.” Simon smirked, putting aside the knot of emotions hanging in the air. 

Here they were. And this moment would not be forgotten, but preserved in time. 

Simon slowly lost his mind all Summer. The last day, Baz had said to him, casually, as if they spoke of secrets and desires, “Have a nice Summer, Simon.”

The very mention of his first name sent him spinning, and it definitely cursed his Summer. He was miserable. He had no one to talk to, no hair to pull out, and no Baz to question. 

Meanwhile, Baz was probably out partying with all his posh friends, thinking nothing of Simon Snow, Grade A Fuck Up. 

Though, that didn’t assimilate with the version of Baz that was being burned into Simon’s brain. The version that was only a hope. A hope based on a few looks and the use of a first name. 

Because what if Baz liked Simon? How would that have happened? And  _ why?  _ And was that at all realistic? And did Simon care?

Ever since Simon was introduced to Watford, he had learned to use his intuition. When he was fighting, he relied on his feet knowing where to go and feeling, in his bones, what the next move would be. If his move led to him getting a broken bone or two, who cared if he won? 

His intuition was telling him that there was more to Baz. The problem was that there wouldn’t be broken bones, there would be broken hearts. 

He walked into their room, the same room they had yelled in, almost hit in, learned how to isolate themselves in. Baz wasn’t back yet. Immediately, Simon jumped face first into his mattress. 

“Ten bucks says you broke your nose,” a voice behind him said. Baz. Simon smiled into the bedding. He couldn’t really breathe in the position, so he rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his left arm. 

“Looks like you owe me ten bucks. Too bad, we could’ve been matching.”

Baz slanted his eyes and grumbled in.  _ That was kinda cute,  _ Simon thought. Then,  _ Merlin, did I just think that?  _ Then,  _ nonononononono.  _ Then,  _ It’s okay, just unpack, Simon, it’s okay.  _

They both unpacked, silently. Though, Simon was freaking out internally despite his brief pep talk. 

A month or so later, Simon still wasn’t sure where Baz and him stood. On one hand, they had been mortal enemies for the seven years preceding their one interaction under the stars. On the other, though, they didn’t seem like mortal enemies succeeding the interaction under the stars. And that was something. 

Something had shifted.

It was terrifying. 

He had to do something about it. 

He didn’t know when—he wasn’t a planner for Merlin's sake—he only knew that he got new-found goosebumps when he thought about Baz. The Baz that would grumpily agree to check Simon’s homework. The Baz that would strike up a conversation with Penny about class or books or something else Simon didn’t understand. 

The Baz that Simon wanted to, against all odds, kiss. 

So, when Baz sat next to Simon, trying to explain some potion, Simon was looking at Baz and not the paper. This annoyed Baz. “Are you even listening to me?”

“No.” 

He sighed. “Snow.” 

“I’m”—he fell backwards on  _ Baz’s bed _ —“bored. I can’t focus right now.” 

“Obviously. Do I even want to know why?” Simon assumed that Baz did want to know why, he was just deathly afraid to ask directly. 

_ He was not an idiot.  _

Simon patted the bed beside him. Closing the book on his lap, Baz slowly—as if it was a luxury, as if he’d wake up tomorrow and all he’d have left was a memory—sank next to Simon. His eyebrows were raised impossibly high, saying  _ what? _

“You wanna know why?” 

Baz’s initial reaction was to retreat. “Well—”

Simon kissed him. 

Baz didn’t reciprocate immediately, but when he did, the bed was on fire, the dorm was on fire,  _ they  _ were on fire. Simon’s body burned inside out, his every breath fanning the fire. He moved his hand to cup Baz’s jaw, the tension being removed by the weight of his fingertips. When Simon deepened the kiss, Baz’s hand surged for Simon’s hip, feeling more, needing more. 

Eventually, Simon got on top of Baz, and they kissed throughout the night with the stars watching through the open window. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope u like it :) it’s late :) sleep is life :) not that i’d know :) 
> 
> readthesevenhusbandsofevelynhugo


End file.
